


Knit One, Purl You

by avespika



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7810045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avespika/pseuds/avespika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an accident Basil Smith has to learn to knit if he's ever going to play guitar again. Unfortunately his instructor is a brilliant woman trying to keep her family business going in the wake of an oncoming tragedy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knit One, Purl You

**Author's Note:**

> Knitting and Motown-themed Whouffaldi? 
> 
> I don't know too much about knitting or guitar (though I've dabbled in both) so I tried to keep it vague- corrections are, as always, welcome.

A shattered beaker and a dozen stitches robbed Basil Smith of the last joy in his life. The scar tissue was extensive and effected not only his fingers but also his grip, completely ruling out playing the guitar any time soon. His doctors told him he needed repetitive movement to loosen the scar tissue but his lab didn’t offer much opportunity for that. Basil was left with one of those stupid, spring-action grip gadgets. After the fourth time the damned thing rebounded straight into his nose he gave up and threw it in the bin.

His guitar sat abandoned in the corner and, less importantly, his loss of hand mobility was impacting his work in the lab. Basil took to the internet, searching out and rejecting alternate therapies. Self-massage seemed impossible without further aggravating the injury. Soaking the area in warm water felt nice but the effect didn’t last.  

Eventually he identified knitting as the least offensive option and located a shop a mere half-block from his flat. Basil had walked past Ravenwood Ravels hundreds of times but had never bothered giving the place a second glance. The storefront was always bright with seasonal craft displays but the cliental tended to be anything but rock and roll, as far as he could tell. He waited until the hour before the shop closed, pulled the hood on his jumper up to disguise himself from any wandering acquaintances, and begrudgingly shuffled into the shop.

The place was decorated cheerfully with displays of crochet books, rows of needles, and baskets of yarn in an overpowering assortment of colors. It was all too much for Basil who quickly decided he’d rather just wait the three to five days to have something shipped from the internet. He turned to leave the shop.

“Hi there, do you need some help finding something?” a pleasant voice called after him, making Basil jump. He tried to flee but before he could make it through the door a very small woman with very large eyes headed him off and stuck out her hand.

“I’m Clara Oswald. What can I help you with?”

Basil opened his mouth to say he was fine, just leaving, maybe that he’d entered the wrong shop but there she was, clasping his hand and tugging him back onto the sales floor.

“Now there’s no need to leave, I know this place can be a bit overwhelming for a beginner but I assure you we’ve got the supplies for your project no matter how small.”

“I, umm” Basil glanced around the room, looking for an alternate route to escape the persistent proprietor of this mad knitting shop.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just assumed you’re a beginner. Maybe you’ve actually got something to teach me! I really have to stop assuming everyone I don’t already know who walks through my door is a newbie or buying a gift for someone.” She leaned closer. “If you are buying a gift just let me know the relationship, parent, spouse, or child, and I’m sure I can find you the perfect items.” She finally stopped to breathe.

Basil seized the opportunity to get a word in. “I was just going, really.”

“Non-sense! I saw you looking.” Clara winked at him. “Now, introduce yourself and tell me what you want.”

Apparently there was no simple way out of this. He quickly said “I’m Basil Smith, and I wanttolearntoknit,” then looked away.

Clara laughed good-naturedly. “Ok Basil, slow that down to half speed and try again?”

Once again he fought the urge to run but reminded himself there was no shame in knitting as a therapeutic activity. He met her warm, brown eyes and took a breath. “I want to learn to knit.”

“We have classes and tutorial books, which would you like? I recommend the classes but if you feel up for a challenge there are several really fantastic guides out there.”

The last thing Basil wanted to do was spend his evenings in some chatty sewing circle. “The books, thank you.”

Clara’s smile broadened. “Right this way, plenty of options.” She offered him a series of guides and he settled for something that didn’t look too complicated. He paged through the book and looked at the first project, a simple striped scarf.

“Err, I guess I also need yarn. And needles.”

Clara nodded. “Those are usually helpful. What were you thinking?” Basil shrugged. “Right, beginner. Hmmm. I usually recommend bamboo at the start, less slippage. The book says five millimeter needles, right here.” She placed a package in his hands. “Now for yarn. Medium weight, two colors. Go on, choose anything from this bin.”

Basil reached in and snatched the first two colors he saw.

Clara tilted her head. “Ok, I guess dark yellow and olive green is…a combination.” Basil shrugged again. “Not much of a talker, are you?”

Clearly this Clara woman didn’t understand the value of quiet. Basil just nodded and allowed her to once again maneuver him, this time to the cash register. She rang up his purchases and tucked a card into the bag. “Let me know if you need any help!” she called as he retreated.

Once he was safely back in the privacy of his flat Basil unwrapped the items he’d bought and got to work. The book’s instructions were inscrutable and required seemingly superhuman finger flexibility. If his fingers bent the way the illustrations showed he wouldn’t need all this knitting rubbish in the first place. He found a video online and copied the movements, frequently pausing to catch his work up with the instructor’s. It took well over an hour but Basil succeeded in casting on an entire row. The video continued and he spent another hour trying in vain to make the next step work. Finally he gave up in frustration. Tomorrow he’d return everything to the knitting shop.

* * *

Basil again waited until the last hour of Ravenwood Ravels’ operations before he entered the shop. Clara was behind the counter when he entered.

“Back again so soon Basil?” She’d remembered his name which made him feel all warm inside. He stamped out that in favor of his usual grim countenance.

“The book didn’t work. I’d like to return all of this.” He placed the bag on the counter.

“Now surely you aren’t giving up after only a day of effort?” Clara needled.

“It’s pointless, I just don’t bend that way.”

“Nope, you’ve got such lovely long fingers. You aren’t allowed to quit this easily.”

She was incurably bossy. Basil sighed. “I really don’t want to argue this. I tried a video and the book. Nothing worked.”

Clara began pulling items out of his bag. “You left the yarn cast on and it isn’t that bad. Look, I can show you right now what comes next if you’ve got time. Shop’s always empty the last hour anyway.”

Basil glanced at the door then nodded his agreement. He was here anyway and he could already tell she wasn’t about to accept any excuses. Part of him was even pleased she was so insistent.

“Ok, like this, see?” Clara twisted and prodded, eventually transferring a bit of yarn from one needle to the other. “Now you try.”

Basil took the knitting into his hands and tried to mimic Clara. He succeeded in about half of the motion and ended up closing his fingers together in a slip knot. “See what I mean, Clara? I’m impossible.”

“No one’s impossible, Basil.” Clara coached him on his next attempt and he completed the stitch. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”

Basil clenched his jaw in pain. Moving that way was definitely not comfortable.

Clara looked up at him, face filled with concern. “Basil, what was that? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he grunted, trying to cover. “Just not used to bending that way.”

Clara’s eyebrows rose. “Hand,” she demanded, stretching her own palm out toward him. He reluctantly placed his injured hand in hers. “Wow, Basil. Lots of scaring here. No wonder it hurt. And so dry, are you even bothering to put lotion on this?”

“No, it didn’t seem to be helping so I stopped.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “You know how medications always say ‘take until you finish the prescription?’ Injuries are like that, even after they seem better you have to care for them. I presume you had stitches?”

“Yeah, but they’ve been out several weeks now.”

“Hang on, I’ve got some vitamin E lotion.” Clara rummaged through a counter drawer and withdrew a tube. “Rub this in a couple of times over the next day and we can try again tomorrow night.”

He didn’t mean to be rude but the next question slipped out. “Why does a knitting teacher know so much about wound care?”

Clara frowned. “Mum’s been sick a long time. After a dozen or so surgeries Dad and I learned a few things.”

“I’m sorry- I didn’t realize.”

She waived him off. “It’s ok, not a big secret or anything. This is her shop, half the people that come in here are looking for her anyway." Her smile was back, but this time it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Well, thanks for the lotion, and the lesson.”

“Just come back tomorrow so we can finish, yeah?”

Basil offered a small smile. “Yeah.”

The entire walk home Basil couldn’t stop thinking about Clara Oswald. Bossy but helpful, sunny but sad. A confusing muddle of emotions on the perimeter of his simple life. Still, if she could help him regain the mobility to play his guitar again it might be worth getting to know her.

* * *

Basil rubbed the lotion into his hand every few hours and noticed enough of a difference the following morning that he was hopeful he would be able to knit properly going forward. That evening he stopped at a coffee shop, picked up two carry-out cups of tea, and proceeded to Ravenwood Ravels at his usual time. He chuckled to himself at the situation. After years of going home to his flat and staying in, he thought he’d at least pick a pub or something, but no, he was becoming a regular at the knitting shop of all places.

Clara was waiting for him behind the counter, a laptop open next to her and some knitting on the counter. “Evening, Basil.”

“Hello, Clara. Brought you some tea if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, I haven’t had much time for a break today.” She accepted the cup with a nod. “So, have you been keeping that skin nice and supple for me?”

Basil blushed at her choice of words. “My hand is fine, thanks.”

Clara demonstrated the technique a few more times and eventually Basil grasped it. After a while he had a couple of rows complete.

When his needles stopped clicking Clara turned to look at him. “So why did you want to learn to knit, anyway? Surprising a spouse?”

“No, no spouse, just a guitar I can’t play until I learn to use my hand again.”

“Oh, so the stitches…?”

“…Were from an accident at work; I’m a research chemist. But more importantly I’m an amateur musician and the scar tissue is keeping me from playing. All the regular physical therapy wasn’t working out and I found an article that suggested knitting to regain range of motion so here I am.” He paused and looked at Clara’s screen. “Bookkeeping?”

“Yeah, that’s what I usually do after-hours.”

Basil furrowed his brow. “After hours?”

Clara gestured over her shoulder. “Yes, look at the clock. You were so intent on getting every last stitch right you didn’t even notice that I got up and flipped the closed sign.”

“Oh. Have I been keeping you?”

“No later than I’d usually be here.”

“And I haven’t even paid you, you usually charge for lessons, right?”

Clara shook her head. “Sure, for like, complex stuff or big groups. But this is nice, I appreciate the company. It gets lonely here late at night without mum, and dad’s so busy caring for her… anyway, a cup of tea is payment enough, thanks for that.”

* * *

Basil came back every weeknight for the next month with two cups of tea. Clara was always waiting, her voice joyful and her eyes tired. He found himself looking for little ways to cheer her. He brought her muffins and drew sketches on the backs of her sales receipts. He asked her to pick the most outrageous colors in the shop and then he wound the brash shades of deep purple, olive green, mustard yellow, and cherry red into his scarf-in-progress. After a month of nightly effort he had produced a scarf of considerable lengths.

Clara laughed when he stretched it out on her desk. “Do you want me to teach you how to finish that off? You’ve got to be close to completing it now.”

“No, I think I’ll keep going. I want to see how ridiculously long I can get it.” Basil never wanted to stop knitting that scarf. He was able to play guitar again, only in the ten minute intervals, but the progress was remarkable. And his colleagues at the lab seemed friendlier, though they all said it was _his_ mood that was improving. Sometimes he’d even admit to himself that his evenings with Clara were the highlights of his day.

After another week the scarf grew longer still and Basil decided it was time to thank Clara properly. He slung his guitar across his back, hooked his knitting bag over his amp, and made the short journey to Ravenwood Ravels. His heart raced as he tried to decide what to play. He had come to consider her a friend now and he wanted her to know she was welcome in his life as long as she’d have him.

“Clara, I’ve got a surprise for you,” he announced as he pushed through the door. But the shop was dark and Clara wasn’t at her usual stool behind the desk. Basil set down his amp and knitting and went further into the shop. “Clara? Are you here?” He went around the desk and found her, seated on the floor, staring ahead blankly. He crouched down.

“Clara?” Her eyes were red-rimmed and her mascara had run down her cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

Clara gave a shuttering sigh. Then, quietly, she answered him. “It’s mum. Last night was bad.”

“Oh, Clara, I’m so sorry.” He sat down next to her. She leaned into his side, cold against him despite his jumper. Basil Smith had never been a hugger but tonight that didn’t matter. He threw his arm around her shoulder.

“They said there isn’t anything left to do. Tomorrow she’s coming home from the hospital and we’ll have a hospice nurse visiting daily. Doctor said four months but you know how that works.” She laughed bitterly. “Could be a week, could be a year, but regardless it is happening.”

Basil drew a card from his pocket and scribbled his phone number on the back. “Here. If you need anything, Clara, anything at all. Call me. Any time, day or night, ok? We’re proper friends now, and I’ll be there if you need me.”

Clara gave him a half-smile. “Thanks Basil.” They sat together on the floor for a moment, huddled together. He knew his attempts at comforting her weren’t going to do much, he’d felt the same way several times in his life, but at least he could be present for her.

After a few minutes Clara brushed the hair from her face and looked up at him. “What’s the guitar for anyway?”

“Ah. Well, seeing as I’m partly healed now I thought I’d play you something and show my gratitude. But given the circumstances if you’d rather I didn’t I completely understand. There will be other times.”

Clara tapped his knee. “Go on, get up then. Play me something. Just because I’m sad doesn’t mean I can’t also be a little happy about something.”

Basil rose then offered Clara his hands. He pulled her up off the floor, sat her on her stool, then went around the desk and plugged in his guitar. The setup crackled to life.

“So, Ms. Oswald, I’m here and I’m taking requests. What can I play to put a smile on your face?”

Clara leaned her elbows on the desk. “I’d like something pretty and sad, thanks.”

“Ok, a sad song for the pretty lady.” He winked at her. Oh, he was acting like such a fool. It was worth it to see her smile, if only for an instant. That gave him an idea. “You know Nat King Cole?”

“Yeah, my granddad had his records.”

So he played _Smile_ , and she did, though her face glistened with tears. Always those mingling emotions, always those warm but heart-breaking eyes. When he finished the song he set his guitar down and went to her, folding her in his arms again. She sniffled in his embrace, snuggling close to him. He wasn’t going to let go first, not when he didn’t know how much she might need this.

After a long moment she pulled back and exhaled. “Thanks for that, it was perfect.”

“Like I said, anything you need. On-call musician included.”

Clara laughed, then reached to squeeze his hand. “What do you do on weekends?”

“Not too much,” he confessed. “Run errands, do laundry, play guitar. Why?”

“Well tomorrow’s Friday but I won’t be here because… you know. The big homecoming. But on Saturdays I teach the junior knitting course in morning. The other clerk runs the shop all day.”

Basil chuckled. “Am I so dreadful you want to throw me in with the kids?”

“No, not that. I’m just free in the afternoon, that’s all.”

The implication of her words sent a chill through Basil. He shook it off- she’d been lonely lately and probably just wanted a friendly face to look forward to. He could do that for her.

“I’ll stop by then.”

“I hope you do.”

“But for now I think you should go home. You look really terrible.”

“Nothing a crying woman likes to hear more than that she looks terrible.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant you look like you could do with some rest.”

Clara patted his arm. “Relax, I was teasing you. You really don’t have much of a sense of humor, do you?”

“Afraid not. I think that’s why I get on so well with you. Your jokes are abysmal but I scarcely notice.”

Clara rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling again and it made his heart soar. She locked up the shop and they parted for the night.

* * *

Basil spent Friday wondering what to do on his not-a-date afternoon with Clara Oswald. No, couldn’t be a date, she was at least twenty years younger. But she hadn’t mentioned using the time to knit and she was likely to need a good distraction to take her mind off of things. A plan had finally formed and so he restrung the old acoustic and placed it in its case.  

He arrived just before noon and walked through the shop to the classroom in the back. He paused to watch Clara wrap up her morning class. A half dozen eager children rushed forward with woven squares, eager to show the visitor their handiwork. He crouched down and examined each one.

“Sorry! They do that any time someone comes in they don’t know,” Clara apologized.

“It’s fine, really. And little humans, these are very good! In fact they are much better than what I’ve managed so far.”

A little girl with dark hair laughed at him. “Miss Oswald can teach anyone, even Maebh who wanders off, so you must not be listening properly!”

“No, guess I’ve been distracted.”

“Well I’m pretty sure bad kids who don’t listen have to collect all the needles at the end of class.”

“And why would you know that?” Basil asked.

“Because I’m usually it, seeing as I’m very disruptive.” The girl flashed him a wicked grin.

“Class is over, Courtney, no need to add bothering Mr. Smith to your list of transgressions for the week.”

“That’s alright miss, I’ll leave your boyfriend alone,” Courtney called as she retreated.

Clara and Basil both blushed.

“Err, kids really will say anything, won’t they?” Clara said, avoiding his gaze.

“Yeah, especially the disruptive ones.” The tension between them eased.

“So, what are your plans for the afternoon?”

“Glad you asked. Guess what I’ve got with me this time?”

“Hmm, well you’re carrying a guitar case so I’m going to guess it isn’t a violin.”

“Clever Clara. Acoustic guitar. I thought, since you taught me knitting, you might like to learn?”

Clara beamed. “Actually, I’d love that. Supposed to be very relaxing.”

“Sometimes. I guess it depends on your mindset when you sit down to play. So happy thoughts only, you got that?”

Clara nodded. “Always easier to have those after my junior classes.”

“I can see why, you’re a natural.”

“I did a teaching degree at uni. Just haven’t had the chance to use it.”

“Non-sense, you taught me when I seemed hopeless and the children seem fond of you.”

“Yes, I suppose if I can teach the man afraid of my shop to knit than I can teach anything.”

“I wasn’t afraid! You were just intimidating.”

“Basil, I’m five foot two. Nothing intimidating about that.”

“You forced me back into your shop!”

“Just be glad I did.”

“Never said I wasn’t.”

He taught her a few basic chords over the next few hours. They broke for lunch at a nearby café then resumed the lesson. Before either realized it the sun was setting. Clara looked at the clock.

“I’ve got to get going – supposed to have dinner with everyone tonight, mum, dad, and gran’s coming over. See you Monday?” She handed Basil the guitar.

“Yeah, I'll be by. And keep it. You might want to practice.” Clara’s face lit up but she shook her head.

“I couldn’t.”

“No, please. I’ve got two electric guitars at home, I rarely play this one, unless I'm going somewhere where an amp isn’t practical. Look, I even changed the strings today. Go on, you can return it once you’re so hooked you simply have to have your own.”

Clara kissed his cheek and he felt his face flush. His heart continued to betray him, beating with excitement whenever she was near though he knew that anything more than this friendship was possible. Clara was lovely, but not even thirty and responsible for a family business. He couldn’t think she’d want to add the burden of an older boyfriend to that already heavy load.

* * *

Now they alternated nights, guitar and knitting. Sometimes Clara would practice while Basil knit, other nights she would work on keeping Ravenwood Ravels operating while he played for her. Their time together was doing funny things to his head. Sure, there was his usual repertoire of punk and alt rock. But now merrier music crept in, Motown standards and even the occasional modern pop hit. Clara was an eager student, delighting in a variety of styles, and he was happy to oblige her.

Eventually he was comfortable enough with knitting and Clara was confident enough in her developing guitar skills that they’d critique one another, sometimes with serious depth, driving the other to improve, and sometimes just because it was fun to get under the other’s skin. One night several months into their friendship Basil had spent a day dreaming up new insults, mostly related to Clara’s height in relation to her guitar, when he arrived to see her looking more fatigued than usual.

“You look exhausted, Clara, are you sure you don’t want to just go home and have some extra rest?”

Clara yawned. “Can’t. Got in late this morning- dad had work, and the nurse was late, and mum can’t get up on her own anymore. So now I’m playing catchup.” She gestured at a stack of invoices.

“You know if I distract you, you can send me away.”

“Of course you distract me, your terrible knitting calls for constant correction. But I do what I do in the name of needlework. And for the free guitar lessons.”

“And I tolerate you murdering a wonderful instrument because I can’t quell my knitting addiction.” Basil wondered if she knew just how much it went beyond knitting and guitar for him. Perhaps it was unhealthy that they spent so much time together. Clara had confessed she had few friends her own age, having spent her twenties running the shop and caring for her parents. And Basil had never been particularly good at socializing. But here they were, making one another happier, despite how odd a pair they might seem. His heart longed to make more of it but his head invariably reminded him that Clara had far too much going on for a relationship, especially with someone like him.

Clara drummed her fingers on the counter as she worked while he played. Finally she closed her book keeping program and stood to stretch.

“Done for the night?” Basil asked.

“Just about. Got time for one more song?”

“Of course. Any requests?”

Clara pursed her lips in thought. “Hmmm. A classic, something that reminds you of me.”

Before his head could intervene Basil’s heart conspired with his fingers and he began to play. _My Girl_ , The Temptations. A fool secretly in love with his best friend.

Unfortunately the significance of the song was not lost on Clara. She sat quite still during the whole song, eyes locked on his. And he couldn’t look away, could scarcely blink.

He wrapped up the song and quickly moved to stow the instrument away and leave. Unfortunately the ever persistent and intimidating Clara Oswald cornered him against the desk.

“ _My Girl_ , huh? That’s the song that reminds you of me?”

“Erm. Yes? I mean, you’re _my_ good friend, and technically speaking you are a girl. Or were, how old are you again? Very young, regardless. Still a girl, compared to-”

Clara raised an eyebrow. “Compared to what, Basil? I’m twenty-nine. Hardly a juvenile.”

 “And I’m fifty-two, so compared to me.”

“Ah, there it is. So the reason you’ve never asked me out on an actual date is because I’m too young?”

She’d actually wanted to date him? Basil panicked. “Yes! No. I don’t- Clara. We aren’t like that.”

Clara crossed her arms. “Could have fooled me. Late nights talking, playing music for one another, sharing so much time and such intimate details. Comforting me when I’m upset because of my family situation, comforting you when your hand hurts too much to play.”

“But you’ve already lost so much time, caring for this place, caring for your family. You said it yourself, you practically missed your twenties.”

“Voluntarily, Basil. No one made me run this shop, or care for my dad so he could care for my mum. I did it because I love them, and I love what they built here. I thought you would understand that age is not a factor in maturity but apparently I was wrong.”

“Clara, please-”

“Leave, Basil. Go on.”

* * *

Several solitary weeks passed for Basil, alone each night in his flat. His productivity in the lab diminished, his knitting lay deserted, even the guitars went untouched. He considered apologizing to Clara but he couldn’t think of a way to do it without betraying his true feelings. Better to leave her to find someone her own age, someone who could give her long years in a life she deserved.

One Friday afternoon his phone lit up with a text message, a rarity as the few friends he did have were scattered around the world. He assumed it was just an advertisement or a weather warning and disregarded it until later that day as he was leaving the lab. He opened the message. Clara Oswald. His stomach flipped.

“Buying myself a guitar, want to take one home and play for mum. Come get your acoustic.”

“Keep it.”

“Don’t want it. Unless you want it binned be here when we close. You know the hours.”

So he went to Ravenwood Ravels because it would be a pity to see the thing junked. Clara was waiting for him just beyond the door. She thrust the guitar into his hands.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Was yours anyway, didn’t want to steal it.”

“I meant to give it to you, I was planning to say something about it.”

“Not much opportunity for that lately.”

“Listen, Clara. Can we talk?”

They went inside and took up their usual spots. Clara leaned across the desk. “Ok, say whatever it is you have to say.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t handle things well, because I just don’t think it’s a good idea. But you are important to me and I’ve got to say I miss you. Can you accept me as a friend?”

Clara took a deep breath. “I owe you an apology too. I assumed feelings that I guess weren’t mutual after all. I’ve been trying to think of a way to say it.”

“That makes two of us.”

Clara smiled. “Ok, one condition and we can go back to being mates, and I promise, just mates. I’d like to play, like recital style, for my mum. It would mean a lot if you came by, seeing as you taught me, and played along with me. She’s been really weak lately. I’d love to lift her spirits a bit.”

If his heart wasn’t already broken that would have done it. “Of course, Clara.”

* * *

Basil arrived at the Ravenwood-Oswald’s house with a guitar and a bouquet of flowers. Clara brought him inside and introduced him to her family.

“Mum, dad, gran, this is Basil Smith. He’s been teaching me guitar. Basil, this is my Mum, Ellie, Dad, Dave, and Sheila, my gran.”

“Oh, those are beautiful,” said Sheila, gesturing at the flowers.

“A congratulations for all of Clara’s hard work. She’s a remarkably quick learner.”

“Our Clara’s always been hard-working,” said Ellie with a smile. She looked like Clara but even smaller, wasted down to practically nothing. Though it was a warm spring day she was bundled against a chill. Still, her smile was bright when she looked at her daughter.

Clara took control of the room. “Let’s get started then.”

She and Basil sat at one end of the living room and played for nearly an hour. Clara had planned a set list in advance and Basil provided back up. He was proud of her; she’d chosen some fairly challenging material given the relatively short time she’d been playing but she held her own.

After the last number her family applauded and Clara beamed. Ellie smiled back, just as dazzlingly as her daughter. Basil was pleased to see her plan to entertain her mother seemed to have succeeded.

“Encore!” Dave called. Clara blushed.

“I haven’t really got anything else prepared,” she confessed. “But there is one song I haven’t played for anyone before. No need to accompany me, Basil, seeing as I didn’t warn you.”

She launched into _My Guy_ by Mary Wells. Some of her transitions were halting but it was still upbeat and not bad for a beginner. Basil wondered if perhaps the song had some significance to her parents. She looked radiant, strumming away solo, making her family forget for a moment all they’d been through over the last few years.

When the song concluded she took a mock half-bow and laughed, evidently delighted with herself. Basil wanted to hold her, kiss her, tell her what a fantastic person she was but he reminded himself, yet again, that there was no room for that kind of emotion here. It would be unfair to her and their effort at friendship to saddle her with him on top of her existing obligations. .

Ellie Oswald’s eyes were drooping. “Clara, dear. Could you help me to bed? I want to talk about your beautiful music but I think I need to lie down.”

“Of course mum.” Clara turned to Basil. “I’ll be back out to say goodbye in a few minutes.”

Clara and Sheila disappeared with Ellie down a hallway, leaving Basil to awkwardly chat with Dave Oswald.

Basil nodded in Dave’s direction. “So, Clara’s quite taken with the guitar, huh?”

“I’d say she’s more taken with the guitar teacher,” Dave replied.

Basil’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What would make you say that?”

“Well, she talks about you non-stop, for one. ‘I showed Basil this stitch, Basil taught me this chord, Basil said something so interesting.’ Or at least she did, until a few weeks ago. We wondered if maybe she was getting ready to introduce us to the mysterious Basil and now here you are. Just be good to her, ok?”

“We aren’t like that.”

“Oh? That last song, I know it because my dad had the record. That wasn’t about you?”

“I assumed it had family significance.”

“No, no more than anything else from dad’s record collection which was pretty extensive, really.”

Basil shook his head. “Well, it wasn’t about me, I can tell you that much.”

“You sure? I saw the way you looked at her, too.”

“Am I that transparent?” Basil murmured.

“Clear as day. But hey, what do I know?”

“You know your daughter. And, to state what must be obvious to you, I’m about your age. That can’t sit right.”

Dave shrugged. “My dad was twice my mum’s age when they got married. And it isn’t my decision to make, it’s Clara’s. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, I’d trust her judgment more than my own on most things. Honestly have been for years, probably shouldn’t have, but she’s never steered me wrong.”

“But with someone her own age she could have decades more.”

“Basil, Ellie and I were born a grand total of three months apart. Closeness in age is no guarantee of time. If you go for it just don’t do it by halves. Clara deserves to be someone’s whole world.”

Clara came back down the hallway. “Dad, she’s asking for you.”

Dave shook Basil’s hand. “Anyway, nice to meet you, Basil.”

“Nice to meet you too, Dave.” He turned to Clara. “As for you, fancy a walk?”

Clara let Basil lead her outside.

“ _My Guy_ , huh?”

“Started learning it before our, ah, first talk about certain things. Just in case. I blame you for suddenly being so taken with music from fifty years ago.”

“That’s fair. Listen, Clara.”

“Basil, don’t say it again. I promise I can handle being friends. And thanks, my mum really loved tonight.”

“No, Clara, I’ve got to say what’s on my mind.” He paused and searched for the right words. “I’ve been lonely a long time. I’m an orphan, have been since I was seventeen. Only child of only children. I’ve got friends but not many, really I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

“I don’t find that hard to believe.”

“But you, Clara Oswald. You bring out everything in me that actually contributes something positive to the world. With you I feel daft, but in a good way? I’m getting this wrong, it’s coming out wrong.”

“…No. No it isn’t.” Clara was looking at him curiously. “Go on.”

“When we’re together I feel like more than I am alone. You’ve taught me so much about hard-work, caring, emotional maturity.”

Clara smiled. “And knitting.” She slipped her hand into his. Basil’s stomach swooped.

“And I don’t deserve you, not for one moment, especially after I lied to you about how I feel. But Clara, if you’ll have me, I promise I’ll never let you go.”

And there was Clara, all five foot two of her, leaning up on her toes and pressing her lips against his. For a moment Basil’s hands went out to the side in surprise. Gradually, as Clara opened her lips under his and called him forward with her tongue he remembered there were plenty of other places for his hands to go. Clara’s had found the back of his head, dragging him closer. His found purchase around her waist, drawing her nearer to him.

When she finally drew back he took her hands in his again. “Clara, I’m in love with you.”

Clara grinned. “I knew before you did.”

Basil hung his head. “I know. I know. It took talking to your dad to convince me to say anything.”

“Remind me to thank him, whenever we make it back there.”

* * *

A month later Ellie Ravenwood-Oswald slipped away, surrounded by her family. The remaining Oswalds were lost without her. Fortunately Basil Smith didn’t leave them adrift alone. The shop stayed open under his care and in time the Oswalds were able to honor Ellie’s spirit instead of merely mourning her loss.

A year after Clara’s recital Basil extracted himself from bed and pressed a kiss to his sleeping girlfriend’s cheek. He tied one end of an impossibly long scarf to their bedroom door then wound the rest through their flat, down the steps, and over the half-block to Ravenwood Ravels. He tied an engagement ring to the other end and waited, two paper cups of tea beside him on the counter.

There was a small wedding and a year later an even smaller baby, named for both of her grandmothers. Penelope Eleanor Oswald-Smith learned to knit, she played guitar, and she added another half dozen hobbies of her own to the family's interests. But her favorite pastime of all was listening to her grandfather tell the story of how she was only in the world because he had the foresight to knock some sense into her father, and what a good thing that had been.


End file.
